


Used To It

by ros3bud009



Series: Wanna Be Missed [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Aka being a Prime is an aphrodisiac to other mechs, Aphrodisiacs, But everyone is consenting, Casual Sex, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 07:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13782285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ros3bud009/pseuds/ros3bud009
Summary: A fill for the prompt:There’s an aura about a truly Matrix chosen Prime that leaves the mechs around them slightly infatuated and more than a little revved up. Back in the day there was an entire class of priests dedicated to assisting those who had to spend a lot of time with the Prime. But many things were lost to history and war, and no one is prepared for Optimus and/or Rodimus--------------------Ratchet knew that siren’s call all too well.“Slaggin’ Primes.”





	Used To It

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the prompt in the summary which can be found over yonder:  
> https://maccadams-filthy-fills.tumblr.com/post/170312712895/theres-an-aura-about-a-truly-matrix-chosen-prime
> 
> While there is some "Matrix made them do it" going on, everything is discussed and consensual.

Truthfully, Ratchet was a bit embarrassed that he hadn’t foreseen it coming.

And that he hadn’t even noticed it when it was right under his nose.

No doubt Ratchet would have gone right on missing it completely if he hadn’t finally had the time and energy to self-service, stroking himself as he sprawled across his berth, and a stray thought crossed his mind.

_Rodimus would feel **incredible**  around his spike._

His servo stilled and he could feel the way his face twisted. Rodimus was far from the worst mech to fantasize about, but Ratchet couldn’t pinpoint just  _why_ Rodimus would pop up in the first place. All attraction to the boisterous speedster had been swiftly categorized as junk information from the beginning since Ratchet simply didn’t have time for that sort of mess. Ratchet had hardly been the best at avoiding mixing work with play during the war, and he was trying to remedy that to some extent. Things were crazy enough in this post-war world without that sort of madness, so it was better to just ignore it, even within the privacy of his own processor.

Rodimus being attractive was an ignored fact. He shouldn’t have crossed Ratchet’s mind in the first place.

But processors were finicky business where matters of the spark and, more importantly, matters of the interface array were concerned.

Best to just shrug it off.

So Ratchet abandoned his spike to slip down into his valve. New sensations would lead to new thought threads and—

_Frag, but Rodimus would feel so **good**_   _inside him._

Ratchet groaned a decidedly irritated groan as his helm thunked back against the berth.

But his servo didn’t stop moving. His spike throbbed where it had been abandoned as his valve calipers clenched around his digits at the thought of Rodimus – bright and glittering plating sleek under another’s touch, under  _Ratchet’s_  touch, as his gorgeous frame arched up towards him, pulling Ratchet in. Into the undeniable charm and magnetism that was Rodimus, that all-consuming aura, bordering on something sacred and  _holy_ —

Ratchet’s optics snapped online, shock and bewilderment warring in his processor, but his spark whirled nearly giddily as his frame teetered on the edge of overload.

But he kept his servo still this time and waited until the wave of desire had passed.

Ratchet knew that siren’s call all too well.

“Slaggin’  _Primes_.”

* * *

“Wait. Is  _that_ why everyone on this ship is charged up 24/7?”

“I’m sure the close quarters and easy access to engex doesn’t help, but yes,” Ratchet replied, his servos folded together on his lap. “The continued proximity to your spark is a large factor.”

Rodimus stared at him blankly.

“But I’m not carrying the Matrix anymore, in case you somehow managed to forget.”

“It’s not the Matrix itself,” Ratchet explained. Rodimus’s plush lips pursed with confusion and Ratchet retrained his optics to the captain’s to avoid any tempting thoughts about those lips. “It’s a result of the changes your frame and spark underwent when you were chosen by it. I’m sure you’re already aware how monumental those changes were.”

Rodimus’s face lit up at that.

“It was a pretty wild ride.”

Ratchet couldn’t help rolling his optics before continuing, “Whether it’s purposeful or not is debatable, but the fact stands that those changes give your spark an aphrodisiac-like quality.”

“Which is doctor talk for turning folks on.”

With a shrug, Ratchet leaned back in his chair. “Yep. It’s slight enough to not be particularly noticeable, but the effect builds up with repeat exposures over time. So when you have a crew that is exposed to you regularly–”

“A little turned on becomes full-blown horny.”

Ratchet nodded.

Rodimus leaned back in his office chair and lifted his pedes to settle on his desk. Ratchet had expected the captain to gloat, or at least be smug about his effect on others, but instead his lips were pressed tightly together.

“So how do I stop it?”

“You can’t,” Ratchet said plainly. “It’s a part of being a Prime, and that simply isn’t something you can turn off as you wish.”

Rodimus didn’t look happy with the answer. His mouth was a hard line.

“Ohhhhkay. Then how do mechs, you know,” Rodimus asked, waving his servo vaguely, “deal with it.”

“Assuming you aren’t looking to hire some comfort mechs painted up to look like Priests?” When Rodimus just looked slightly alarmed, Ratchet waved it off, explaining, “It’s a joke, kid. That’s how Primes used to deal with their advisors looking to jump their bolts. I guess most folks wouldn’t know that outside of Iacon.”

“Yeah, can’t say I knew about any holy shareware,” Rodimus admitted. He didn’t look much comforted by the realization either. “And I think I’ll pass on that, thanks. Seems a bit much.”

Ratchet nodded his agreement. “It hasn’t been a feasible option for a long time, and I wouldn’t suggest bringing it back.”

“Soooo…?”

“You want my honest answer?” When Rodimus nodded, Ratchet further warned, “You’re not going to like it.”

“I can’t say I really like anything about this situation so that’s nothing new,” Rodimus grumbled.

Ratchet couldn’t help lifting a brow.

“I would have thought you’d get a kick out of this.”

“Magnus can barely stand to be in the same room as me anymore because he’s so upset about the fact that he wants to clang me,” Rodimus stated, tone casual but the tightness of his face giving away how it was hardly only Ultra Magnus who was upset about the circumstance. “He  _apologized_ for it, Ratchet. Do you know how much it sucks to have someone apologize for that? And then when I want to hang out with Drift to talk about it, he’s ‘busy’! He’s busy all the time when he’s not staring at me! The only time anyone will be around is when they’re flirting and—and I’m tired of it! So whatever you can do to make it stop, it’s fine. I’m game. Whatever I can do to help.”

Ratchet frowned.

“There’s nothing that you can do about it, Rodimus.”

Rodimus stilled.

“Come on, Ratch. That can’t be true.” The desperation was palpable in his voice.

“But it is,” Ratchet admitted. He shifted to the front of his seat, elbows on his knees as he considered Rodimus seriously. Millions of years of practice shoved lustful thoughts from his processor. “This isn’t something that you can fix. It’s going to be a bumpy ride, and it’s going to be awkward, but everyone on this ship will figure out how to deal with their desires on their own and things will eventually settle down.”

All at once, Rodimus deflated, looking hopeless.

“But what if they don’t?”

“Trust me, they will.” Ratchet suspected that Drift was already in the midst of navigating the attraction to his friend and would come out the other side all on his own soon enough, but Ultra Magnus seemed the type who would need reassurance. After making a note to see the Second about it, Ratchet made another to contact Rung. Together they could probably work their way through the crew—

“How can you be so sure?”

“Do I really need to remind you the company I kept for the last four million years?”

Rodimus blinked. And then blinked again.

And then his optics went wide and bright as he lifted his pedes off his desk to sit up straight in his chair.

“ _Optimus_?” he managed, at once shocked and awed, and Ratchet couldn’t help an amused huff of his vents.

“Oh yeah. It was mostly us lieutenants and advisors since we had the most continued time with him, but any ship he stayed on long enough would become a crew-wide game of musical berths.”

Rodimus’s mouth hung open and Ratchet would swear he could hear the captain’s processor churning from where he sat.

“ _You_  wanted to clang Optimus.”

“As much as anyone else,” Ratchet admitted with a shrug. “But my point, Rodimus, is–”

“Did you?” Rodimus asked, leaning forward in his seat as the shock gave way to a perverse curiosity.

With an exasperated ex-vent, Ratchet continued, “My  _point_ is that there are other ways for the crew to release their pent up–”

“ _You did_. You totally clanged Optimus.” Rodimus seemed nearly giddy with his discovery, at once fascinated and entertained.

It was better than the sullenness of before, and it would be a lie if Ratchet said his spark didn’t leap at how beautiful Rodimus looked when grinning, even if it  _was_ at his expense. The Prime was so easy to please–

Ratchet sighed at the predictable way his frame reacted to the thought.

“We didn’t make a habit of it, if that’s what you’re suggesting.” Ratchet crossed his arms over his chest, as if that could contain the dancing of his spark.

But?” Rodimus wheedled, out of his seat now with his palms on his desk as he leaned over it, leering at Ratchet. While the circumstances were completely different – Optimus was never, at even his most light-hearted moments, so ridiculous and flashy and  _silly_ – the longing of his spark and the ache of his interface array was the same.

It had felt incredible to let himself give in to Optimus’s draw, and there was no doubt in his spark that Rodimus could easily meet those staggering heights.

Primus, how he  _longed_.

“The allure of a Prime is hard to ignore,” Ratchet managed in lieu of the statement of fact that Rodimus was looking for.

Nevertheless, it gave the captain pause.

“Oh,” Rodimus said, almost more ex-vent than word, his optics tracking down Ratchet’s frame, as if really noticing him for the first time. Rodimus’s vents shifted minutely, opening that slightest bit wider. “You wanna frag me too.”

Ratchet couldn’t help a small, amused smile.

“I’m hardly immune, kid. Fortunately for you, I have a lot of practice keeping it behind my panels.”

Rodimus’s gaze finally lifted to meet Ratchet’s and a slow, heated grin pulled at those lush lips.

“You don’t have to,” Rodimus said casually, leaning that slightest bit closer and letting his spoilers flick out enticingly. “You could make it two for two.”

Arms stayed crossed over his chest, but Ratchet’s servos tightened where they clasped his own armor to keep them to himself.

“I thought you didn’t like this whole mess.”

The grin fell for a moment as Rodimus ex-vented, explaining, “I don’t like everyone acting weird and apologetic about wanting me. It’s making them uncomfortable to even be around me and straining our relationships. But you—” Rodimus shrugged as he actually let his elbows rest on the desk so he was bent over the surface, watching Ratchet’s face. “You don’t seem to really care about the fact that you’re horny and want to interface with me.”

“Course not. I’ve been in too many berths and around too many Primes now to bother with shame at this point,” Ratchet replied. “Doesn’t get anyone anywhere.”

“I’m so going to pick your processor about those berths,” Rodimus said. “But later. Because if you’re honestly ok with all of this, I’m totally serious about wanting to frag. All of this attention has got me revved up with nowhere to burn it.”

Ratchet rolled his optics, but that didn’t keep him from finally uncrossing his arms to instead lean them against his knees, allowing him to shift closer without leaving his seat. No need to give away the sheer want now thrumming through his lines. “Why wouldn’t I be ok with it?”

“‘Cause the Matrix made you do it?” Rodimus offered, shrugging, casual as could be except for the intensity of his focus, looking for any sign of—discomfort perhaps? Uncertainty?

With a slow ex-vent, Ratchet pushed up to his pedes. Rodimus straightened, watching him but not pulling away when Ratchet’s servos braced against the desk on his side of it, bringing their faces closer together.

“Listen, let me make something clear,” Ratchet started. “Your aura draws mechs to you, and as a result, yes. It makes us revved up and marks you as the target for release. But that’s it. It’s just an attraction and raised interface drive.” When Ratchet leaned in closer and finally allowed his armor to relax, Rodimus’s optics flared with interest and his spoilers gave another flutter. “We can get ourselves off. We can get off with each other. Hell, we can just ignore it. Nobody has ever died from ignoring their interface drive that I know of.”

The proximity of the Prime’s spark made Ratchet’s thunder in his chest, as if it could escape and join with Primus’s emissary.

“So you’re saying you could leave if you wanted to,” Rodimus clarified, and when Ratchet nodded, the wide, bright grin was back. “But you don’t want to leave.”

Ratchet’s vents opened as his fans started to whirr to life.

“Lucky for you, you were already my type, hotshot.”

“Rod, actually,” Rodimus teased even as he leaned further across the desk, close enough now that their ex-vents mingled. “But you’re old enough that I don’t expect you to remember.”

“Like you’re as young as you act.”

“Rude.” There was nothing about the way that Rodimus was looking at him that suggested he was anywhere close to actually offended. Not with the way he let his lips part, his glossa peeking out the wet them. Still though, a flicker of disbelief flashed across his face. “I would have thought you preferred mechs like Optimus. Someone more your speed.”

“And what do you know about my speed?” Ratchet asked, aware that his voice was taking on a gravelly edge as his systems heated and his array pinged him to open.

Rodimus snorted, concern evaporating as he grinned smugly.

“I know you couldn’t keep up with me.”

Ratchet’s engine revved and his panels felt constricting.

“Try me.”

“Then get over on this side of the desk, old man.”

For all that his spark screamed to scramble over the surface, Ratchet had enough dignity to pull away and walk around the desk. Once within reach of Rodimus’s servos though, dignity was a lost cause as digits slipped under armor plates and glossae slipped past lips and self-control slipped from Ratchet’s grasp as he groaned into their kiss.

He should have known better than to think he could refuse a divine mess like this.

Rodimus’s plating was smoother under Ratchet’s digits than he had imagined, silky even as he pulled Rodimus flush against his frame, reveling in the Prime’s aura and his enthusiastic kisses. Rodimus kissed like he did everything else – with nothing held back as his servos demandingly cradled Ratchet’s jawline to tilt and pull him as the captain saw fit to keep their mouths slanted together passionately. When he finally pulled away it was with a grin pulling at those kiss-bruised lips.

“How have we not done this before?” Rodimus asked as he tipped Ratchet’s helm up, making room to nuzzle in and start pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck cabling. With a pleased hum of his engine and vocalizer alike, Ratchet let his helm fall back even further and curled a servo around the back of Rodimus’s, holding him in place. “Is it ‘cause my sexy Prime powers hadn’t started working on you yet?”

Rodimus’s snickering drowned out the dull ring of Ratchet smacking the back of his helm.

“Don’t make me regret this indiscretion.”

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir,” Rodimus teased with a nip to Ratchet’s chin. “You this mean to all your frag buddies?”

“Is that what we are now?” Ratchet shot back as he leaned against the desk, his aft meeting it as his free servo pulled at Rodimus’s hip. Rodimus easily moved in close to grind their pelvis’s together, and the proximity of their chests, of their  _sparks_ , made Ratchet nearly dizzy with the rush of need.

Rodimus’s optics flared as they drunk in the medic’s expression.

“Call me self-important all you want, but you look like you’ll definitely be back, so why not?”

Rodimus wasn’t wrong, so Ratchet let it slide. After all, there were far more important things at hand. His arching array for one which was at that moment responding to the strong pulse of Rodimus’s spark over the commands of his own processor. His panels transformed away before Ratchet could stop them, leaving his valve to drip onto Rodimus’s thigh and his spike to pressurize against his abdomen.

And Rodimus didn’t so much as pause before pressing in closer, rubbing his frame against Ratchet’s array, obviously reveling in Ratchet’s lust.

And Ratchet’s spark thrilled at seeing the Prime so pleased.

“You want to clang real bad, huh?” Rodimus taunted against Ratchet’s neck as his hips rolled and the pleasure had Ratchet revving as his cooling fans kicked up a notch.

“Whose fault is that again?” Ratchet groused before tugging Rodimus away long enough to seal their lips together again and lick his way into the Prime’s mouth. With a full-frame shudder, Rodimus moaned and a quiet click announced to reveal of his own array, spike quickly pressurizing to slide along Ratchet’s.

Rodimus’s lips moved against Ratchet’s as he replied, a bit breathlessly, “Oh, that’s one hundred percent on me and my sexy Prime powers.”

“Rodimus.”

Rodimus ex-vented a laugh. “Yeah, yeah, alright. How do you want to do this?”

A thousand different scenarios came to his processor, each more tempting than the last, but above it all was just overwhelming  _want want want–_

“Whatever you want. I’m pretty easy,” Ratchet managed.

“Yeah you are,” Rodimus said, smirking as he pulled back before Ratchet could nip his bottom lip.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“And  _you_ knew who you were agreeing to interface with,” Rodimus countered as, despite his taunting, his servo quickly slipped down to find Ratchet’s valve. Ratchet’s hips jerked forward into his grasp, ex-venting hotly when Rodimus pressed his palm against his node and his digits massaged the lips around his rim. “How ‘bout I spike you, and if we’re still up for it after, you can return the favor?”

A single digit pressed effortlessly into Ratchet, his valve wet and pliant and so very open to the Prime in front of him, but it still dragged a groan from his vocalizer.

“Sounds like a fragging plan, kid.”

Ratchet reached behind himself to brace on the desk and push up to sit on it, his thighs spreading to let Rodimus slide right into the space, his spike brushing the swell of his valve lips. The Prime’s spike was ornately painted, which wasn’t a surprise, but Ratchet didn’t have the time or processor energy to think much on it when Rodimus’s digits drifted to his valve again.

“For someone intent on reminding me how old I am, you sure do love calling me ‘kid’,” Rodimus pointed out as his optics stayed glued to his valve, seemingly appreciating the sight as he parted the lips to trace the biolights blinking fitfully in the mesh.

“If you act like a kid, I’m gonna call you kid,” Ratchet managed around the growing tightness of his intake, his spark feeling as if it was swelling enough to choke him. The fact that the Prime found him worth appreciating was intoxicating, which Ratchet knew deep down was ridiculous – he didn’t need Rodimus to like how his valve looked – but Rodimus’s damned aura and the resulting desire to please was too strong to ignore with how close they were.

And, frankly, it felt so good.

Slagging  _Primes_.

Two digits pressed inside this time, still easy with how slick and ready Ratchet’s frame was. His calipers clenched desperately and pleasure raced up and down his lines like wildfire.

“Then you won’t get mad when I call you an easy old mech?” Rodimus asked as he finally flicked his optics up, bright with arousal as his digits curled and spread.

Ratchet didn’t need to look down to know Rodimus’s digits were already dripping with his lubricants.

“Ask me again when I can hold a conversation,” Ratchet groused. His hips rolled forward with Rodimus’s movements and his engine growled when the Prime found the most sensitive bundle in Ratchet’s lining. “Primus, get on it with already.”

“We’ve barely even started the foreplay.” Rodimus’s digits were relentless against the newfound weak spot, curled just right to stroke it over and over, drawing a shudder and a tank-deep groan from Ratchet as his thighs tightened around Rodimus’s hips.

“There’s time for that later. Right now I need your fragging spike inside me.”

Rodimus laughed, but that didn’t stop him from finally showing Ratchet’s sensitive nodes mercy and moving to replace his digits with the blunt head of his spike.

“Well, what kind of Prime would I be to deny you my ‘divine grace’?”

“ _Rodimus_ –”

Ratchet’s reprimand was cut off as Rodimus sunk into his valve in one smooth push, filling him and inadvertently bringing that glorious spark closer, and that combined with the way the Prime shuddered and ex-vented, “ _Scrap,_ you feel  _good_ ”–

Ratchet moaned long and low as his legs folded around Rodimus’s hips to hold him closer, pull him further in, urging him harder and faster and deeper. Rodimus was gorgeous, vents wide open and his mouth agape, taking the hint and setting a steady rhythm. He moaned against Ratchet’s lips as his servos pulled at Ratchet’s frame in turn, caressing and holding Ratchet in place for his thrusts. Each slide had charge crackling between their plates as Ratchet’s valve accepted and tightened around Rodimus’s spike, milking him, making each stroke that much more pleasurable for the Prime and him both.

And then Ratchet let himself revel in the overwhelming rush of his spark, the perfect joy in having it’s longing fulfilled by intertwining his frame with divinity.

* * *

Rodimus’s frame heaved to cool itself as he stared up at the ceiling. His plating was covered with paint transfers and lubricant and transfluid alike, though the majority of it was splashed across his hips and between his thighs. Truthfully, the Prime looked completely wrecked.

Primus, it wasn’t fair for one mech to be so damned pretty.

Ratchet doubted his frame had fared much better. But his spark hummed with satisfaction strong enough that the medic didn’t bother to check just yet. Not when the afterglow was so lovely.

“So. Uh. You normally have that kind of stamina, or did I really manage to rev you up that hard?” Rodimus asked. “Because listen, I know I have stamina, but I think we just had at least a dozen overloads altogether.”

Ratchet chuckled as he let his arms stretch out over his helm and silently thanked whoever was on cleaning duty that week that the floor was so clean under him.

Or, well, was. There were definitely puddles of lubricant and the like next to him where those last couple of overloads had finally brought the fragfest to its conclusion.

“Honestly couldn’t tell you. I’ve had this heightened interface drive for four million years and counting, so who knows.”

“ _Primus_.”

Ratchet shrugged. “You get used to it.”

Rodimus was quiet for a moment. Then, without warning, he rolled so that he was draped across Ratchet’s chest, helm perched on his servos, and grinned down at him.

“Oh, I definitely think I could get use to this.”

Ratchet huffed as he swiped a stray droplet of transfluid from Rodimus’s cheek.

Yeah.

This was a madness he could get used to.


End file.
